


Revelation

by TheGreatBobbinski



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-21
Updated: 2016-05-21
Packaged: 2018-06-09 18:56:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6919147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatBobbinski/pseuds/TheGreatBobbinski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the town of Revelation, there have been a series of mysterious deaths. Enter, Marshals Dean and Sam Winchester, on the hunt for who--or what, has been causing these deaths. Castiel Novak, town sawbones, has a strange effect on Dean, which makes the Marshal wonder if he might be the cause--or if it's just plain lust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Revelation

It snowed the night Annie Moss was murdered.  It was the first snow of the year, fat white clumps floating down to earth in a sleepy dance.  They mixed with the dirt and manure of the street as people walked through it.  All was still, the special silence that comes with a good snowfall.  

George Moss stumbled from the little clapboard house they lived in, blood spattered and dazed.  He looked about, lost, ignoring questions from the people on the street around him.  Little James raced off to get the Sheriff as George looked up at the dark sky, the white flakes melting into the red on his face, making him cry blood.

“Run.”  

The word barely left his lips before he collapsed, the muddied snow around his body turning to rust.

*****

The U.S. Marshals arrived with the evening post.  They stumbled out of the train’s single passenger car and into the town of Revelation, crunching over frozen mud, then up the wooden stairs into the office with ‘Sheriff’ posted over the door. Both were tall, solidly built men in long overcoats suitable for winter air, the butts of pistols flashing at their hips with the sway of the fabric as they walked. They moved with purpose, and the few folk in the street moved to give them a wide berth. 

Inside, two men lounged, one with his boots comfortably propped on his desk as he smoked a pipe and the other engrossed in the daily news.  A holding cell stood empty behind them.

One of the newcomers cleared his throat and the man reading the paper looked up.  

“Can I help you?”

“Sheriff Milton?”

“That’s right.  Who’re you, strangers?”

“I am U.S. Marshal Dean Winchester, this’s my brother, U.S. Marshal Sam Winchester. We’re here about the murder that happened a week back, and to pick up your suspect, bring him down to Yuma.”  They both pulled out the silver circles with a star in the center, holding them out to the Sheriff who glanced at them almost with disinterest.

“Welcome to Revelation, Marshals,” he said, “I’m Sheriff Michael Milton.  I imagine you’ve had a long journey and would like to get refreshed.  Gabriel here can show you over to Harvelle Boarding House.” 

“That does sound tempting.  However, as we’re here now,  we were thinkin’ we could learn a little more about this murder and your suspect.”

“All due respect Marshal, it’s getting near dinnertime and Gabriel and I both have families to get home to. Mr. Moss isn’t going anywhere at the moment.”

Both Marshals stared at them in silence for a beat.

“How much of the situation do you know?” Gabriel spoke up.

“A woman was killed by her husband.”  Dean glanced at the empty cell.  “Where is your prisoner, Sheriff?”

There was an uncomfortable pause as the two men glanced at each other.

“Someplace safe.”

“Safer than a jail?”

“Only the bars are iron, Marshal.  The walls are made of wood.”

“I’m sure a man would still have a tough time of escaping.”  

That earned a snort from Gabriel and he shook his head.

“We’re not tryin’ to keep him from gettin’  _ out _ ,” he said, mouth twisting around his pipe, “More like tryin’ to keep them from gettin’  _ in _ .  Annie Moss was a sweet woman, godly and pious.  The folk ‘round here weren’t too happy about what he did.”

“So where have you put him for safe-keeping, Sheriff?” Sam finally spoke up, a frown creasing his brow. “We’re going to need to speak with him at some point.”

Sheriff Milton was silent, mulling something over.  Then he gave a sharp nod to Gabriel.

“Take them there.  I need to get home before Mrs. Milton throws a fit.  Good evening, Marshals.”

With a grunt, Gabriel hefted his feet off the table and stood, grabbing a heavy woolen coat off the back of the chair.

“Let’s go see the bad guy, Marshals,” he said, shrugging it on as he brushed past the two men. Both Winchesters tipped their hats at the Sheriff before they followed the shorter man.

He led them to the edge of town, to what looked like a small wood-chopping cabin that had clearly seen better days. He pulled out his ring of keys and unlocked the front door, before gesturing for them to follow him inside. George Moss was chained to the far wall, watching them with wary eyes.

“Good evening, Mr. Moss, I am U.S. Marshal Dean Winchester, and this’s my brother, Marshal Sam Winchester.  We were sent here by Judge Parker to take you into custody, but I have some questions for you first, if that is all right.”

The man stared at him from the corner of the room, no flicker of recognition in his expression.  

Dean sat his hat down and perched on the edge of the rickety wooden chair while Sam continued to stand behind him, arms folded over his chest.

“Mr. Moss, I’d like to hear from you what occurred on the night of Mrs. Moss’ death.”

George pressed himself back further into the corner as though he could sink right into the wall.

“Not safe,” he muttered, “Not safe.  No one’s safe.”

“Safe from what, Mr. Moss?  You?” 

“Not safe for  _ anyone _ . I didn’t kill my wife, but I saw what did. It came outta the darkness, like ink moving over the snow. I ain’t never see anythin’ move like that before in my life.”

“What did you see, George?” Gabriel asked gently, but the old man shook his head and refused to speak again.

*****

The Harvelle boarding house was a wooden two story building set apart from the others around it on the outskirts of town.

An elderly dog sprawled on the porch, barely lifting its head to look at the new person on its property.  Sam leaned down to scratch its ear before they stepped over it to knock on the front door.  A moment, then the sound of footsteps and a young woman was pushing open the door, looking up at him expectantly.

She was striking, both for her pale beauty and for the scar.  From ear to almost the corner of her mouth, the pale skin stretched and puckered.  Dean knew a burn scar when he saw one.  She made no attempt to hide it with the blond hair pulled back in a loose bun, and she wore a plain cotton dress and apron.  

“Yes?”

“Excuse me, ma’am, we were told there are rooms available here,” Dean said, his hat already in hand.  The woman looked suspicious and he quickly added, “Sheriff Milton sent me here.”

The suspicion did not fade, but she stepped back anyway, allowing them room to enter the house.

“We do have rooms,” she said briskly.  “Dollar a night.  Dollar and a half if you want meals, too.”

“That sounds reasonable.”

“You have names?”

“U.S. Marshal Sam Winchester, and this is Marshal Dean Winchester, at your service, ma’am,” the taller of the two said with a courteous nod of his head.  

A wary glance was thrown over her shoulder at him as she moved up the stairs, pulling a key out of a worn apron pocket.  

“Breakfast’s at seven every mornin’; supper’s at five.  Both are served in the dining room downstairs.”

They passed an older gentleman with a greying beard in the hallway.  He and the Winchesters exchanged polite nods.

“Washroom’s out back,” she continued, unlocking a door and pushing it open for him.  “Hot water’s extra.  You have a bowl and bucket in here for your use, as long as you take them out yourself.”  

The room was simple, with the brass bed and a faded throw rug on the floor.  A dresser stood in one corner with the pitcher and bowl, a mirror hanging above them on the wall.  

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” Sam said, setting his bag on the bed. “Would you like payme…”

The girl’s hand was already out and he rummaged in his coat until he found some gold dollars.  They were whisked away, quickly hidden in the folds of her skirt.

“Dinner in twenty minutes.  Welcome to Revelation, Marshals.”


End file.
